Harvest Moon
by Xenoglossy
Summary: "The Wolves were talking last night..." Remus reflects on his life before and after Hogwarts and his future... last of the Mauraders...


Pre Fic Rantings and a Sprinkle of Disclaimer: I love Remus Lupin? Don't you? ^^ Once again, this is just a little character piece based off a neat idea that struck me from the middle of nowhere.  
I do not own these characters and situations. In fact, being only fifteen years old, I don't own much of anything. I'm into that whole "starving artist" thing.  
Enjoy!  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Harvest Moon  
Izzy Girl  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
"The wolves were talking last night."  
  
Mother dropped her fork into her pumkin juice and Father's knife made a noise like a dying cat across his plate as he clenched his fists, staring up at me suddenly, white-lipped.  
  
But neither of them said anything.  
  
I was just a child. I didn't understand such subtly obvious things like body language. Not understading these things, I continued.  
  
"They were saying that a storm is coming. Isn't that funny, mother? How would the wolves know that?"  
  
I had turned my gaze towards my breakfast, cutting and chewing with quiet determination. I hadn't noticed the unnatural shade of white my father's face had taken on; nor the quiver in my mother's hands.  
  
"But they weren't talking about wheather, I don't think. I think they were talking about something quite different... but then, that's even stranger, isn't it. Mother? Father?"  
  
From across the table, Mother sobbed, once, then collapsed into her arms, back rising and falling with silent tears, Father stood and grabbed me roughly by the arm. Mind you, my parents were never rough with me. Not if they could avoid it at least. I was absolutely bewildered as my usually gentle Father dragged me out of the room with unnecessary force; I was a very small boy.  
  
He slammed the door of my room shut, and as it closed, I heard a ragged cry from mother in the kitchen. Father sat me down on the bed and knelt so that his face was nearly level with mine.  
  
At that moment, I was terrifyed. Father's face was so pale and his eyes so hollow that he looked to me like a wicked monster of sorts from one of my story books. Certainly not the man who laughed and sung me old folk songs as I happily played with the straw on the ends of his old broomsticks.  
  
"Remus..." he muttered, his voice low and dangerous, "You've upset your Mother."  
  
I nodded deftly, not really understanding anything beyond the fact that Mother was crying, and for that I was very sorry, but as to why she was so distressed, I was confused.  
  
"you're Mother... she... doesn't like to think about, ah..." in a moment, Father's anger collapsed and he was familiar again. I wanted to hug him, I was so relieved, but he was still trying to sort out his thoughts, "You're Mother doesn't like to hear about the wolves."  
  
"O... okay..."  
  
Something registered in the back of my young mind, but it would still be a year or two until I realized just what was so wrong with me.  
  
It used to be simple. I loved the wolves. Every night I would listen at my window and hear them sing and talk and gossip. And once a month, I would dream that I was out there, running with them. Nipping and barking, rolling in the soft forest undergrowth and howling to the moon, the stars, the treetops, anyone who would listen.  
  
I was eight years old the night I got in a fight with a fox. My leg was bleeding and I wanted to wake up so badly, to escape the dream. I limped through the shrubbery, alone, and willed myslef over and over to wake up until finally, I fell asleep. At the first light of dawn, I was in my own bed, but my leg still ached with the pain of ripped tendons and severed flesh.  
  
It was then that it struck me, and suddenly, hearing the wolves talk was not a gift, but a curse. It was then I noticed the nervous, edgy glances and the hesistant affection from my Mother. It was then that I understood why we lived so far from civilization. Our small farmhouse was beyond the outskirts of a tiny Muggle village, and on the edge of the woods.  
  
I soon came to fear the wolf and it's world.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
When I was ten, I can remember one afternoon in which I was seated at the kitched table, reading quietly while Mother hummed and washed the dishes (being so far out from civilization had cut us off from modern conviniences such as "dish-washing soap"). I learned to treasure these fleeting moments in which Mother would turn her head every so often and give me a snippet of worrisome smiling, her tiny lips stretching out beneath her wide, strained eyes. It was a smile of love. Mother and Father sacrificed so much for me.  
  
When her back was turned, I raised my eyes from my book and studied her with greedy, childish intent. Her hair was caught in a tight bun atop her head, and her robes were loose on her tiny body (she had lost weight I the last few years, I noted). She had a white apron tied around her waist and looked rather like the Muggle house-servants I saw when we went into town.  
  
Still, I looked closer. Beneath the thin hairs that ran down the nape of her neck, there was something thin, white and sharp looking.  
  
It was a scar.  
  
Terror clenched at my heart with it's icy fingers. Dangerous thoughts began to form themselves inside my mind. Yes, Mother was scared of me. I had accepted that long ago, but... did she have reason to?  
  
I leapt from my seat and strode quickly across the kitchen to wrap my small arms around Mother's thin waist. She flinched violently as I gripped her with fierce desperation.  
  
"Mother..." I sobbed into her back, "Mother, I'm sorry..."  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
They fought for me, Mother and Father did. Three days of debate with Headmaster Dumbledore himself. The Headmaster was sympathetic but he had to look out for the intrests of the student body.  
  
"I do not believe that the other parents would take well to their children attending school with a werewolf. Im sorry Mr and Mrs Lupin, but I..." he gestured weakly with his aged hands, his white beard rising and falling as he sighed heavily.  
  
Father grew silent and Mother began to cry. In the end, I was the one who spoke up.  
  
"No one would have to know."  
  
"Remus!" Father gasped and stared at me, agast.  
  
I took a step forwards and braced my hands on Dumbledore's desk. I was shuddering.  
  
"The other students wouldn't have to know. You could put me in a cage on the nights..."  
  
"No!" Mother cried, standing and stomping her foot sternly, "Remus, I will not have you put in a cage like an animal!"  
  
"But that's what I am!" my hands curled into fists and my voice rose with conviction. I spun to face my parents, "I am a WEREWOLF. A WOLF is an animal. On nights of the full moon *I* am no better than an animal! I can't control what I do! Mother, I hurt *you*!"  
  
Mother unconciously rubbed the back of her neck where the scar was.  
  
"You two have given me so much, it's my turn to make sacrfices! If you want me to go to school, you have to understand that I have to be controlled!"  
  
Both were silent. Mother sunk in her chair and looked as if she would begin crying again. Father just shook his head sadly and muttered: "My son..."  
  
I turned again, unable to watch the anguish on their face. Dumbledore had leaned back in his chair, folded his hands and was chewing on his pipe with a most unreadable expression on his face. My heart sank. Obviously, I had just killed any chance I once had of entering Hogwarts with my shameful display.  
  
"Headmaster, I..."  
  
"There is little doubt, Remus, that you will be sorted into Gryffindor." He reached out one bony hand towards me, smiling warmly.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Headmaster Dumbledore's words rang true. Only a week later, I found myself meticiously orginizing my personal belongings into a cramped dresser door in the Gryffindor First Year's dorm.  
  
I regarded my dorm-mates from the corner of my eye. The first I saw was a slightly chubby boy, with messy hair and shifty eyes. He was curled up in the corner of his bottom bunk, slowly rubbing the soft fabric of the blankets between his thumb and forefinger. Peter Pettigrew, I remembered. Above him bunked a strong looking boy with messy raven locks and the most amazing blue eyes. He kept pushing a pair of wide glasses up his nose as he leaned over the side of his bed, chatting cheerfully with the occupant of the other top bunk. James Potter. The last boy was named Sirius Black. He too had dark hair, but, unlike James's, it fell uniformly across his dark face. His eyes were a faded blue, but still held a spark. A mischevious spark at that.  
  
I sighed and sank backwards into the flat, but (magically) comfortable mattress. As soon as my back hit the fabric, a bright eyed face popped it's head into my line of vision, grinning madly.  
  
"Remus, wasn't it?" he chimed.  
  
I nodded weakly, "Sirius, right?"  
  
Sirius beamed and gestured across the way, "You look just a bit more than mildly shy, then, Remus. How bout' you hang with James here and I." he winked, "We'll crack that shell sure enough!"  
  
"Um... okay...?" I sat up and shrugged uncomfortably. I had always been more than wary about making friends. I couldn't remember a time in my life when I'd kown another child as any more than an aquaintence.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Keeping my secret from my friends proved a great deal more difficult than I might've imagined.  
  
"Where were you last night?" Sirius wondered for the first time, my third month, when I stumbled into Charms, bleary eyed and yawning and took my seat, nodding shallowly at Proffesor Flitwick, who gave just the barest of nods back.  
  
Peter didn't look up from his text book, fat fingers clutching the quill with a vengence as he copied neat, detailed notes furiously, "You shouldn't be out after hours..." he muttered quitely, "You could get expelled."  
  
"It's okay." I whispered, "I won't get expelled."  
  
Peter dropped his quill and glanced up at me, he pale eyes wavering, "Don't be so sure, Remus... the teachers know more about what goes on than you would think."  
  
"Yeah..." Sirius made a disdainful face, "Not to mention those scummy Slytherins are just looking for ways to get us in trouble..."  
  
I rolled my shoulders and picked up my quill. under my breath I said, "I wouldn't worry about the teachers. Really..."  
  
It was then that James leaned over Sirius's scattered papers and lowered his glasses slightly to peer at me gravely. He said nothing, just looked curious, and maybe a bit dissaproving. He sighed and straightened himself, flashing the proffesor a shimmering smile as he did so.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
"Remus is hiding something."  
  
I heard James tell Sirius later on.  
  
"Yes. he is."  
  
Sirius agreed.  
  
I sank into the wall despairedly, mulling over the supicious look James had shot me earlier that day in Charms, and realized that this constituted a loss of trust between us. Without trust, what was friendship?  
  
"Do you think he would tell us?"  
  
"I don't know. Depends on what it is."  
  
"Well, I'm assuming something pretty big deal... he's gone for nights at a time."  
  
"One night every month." James confirmed, the sound of his tapping foot muted by the thick walls of the Potions storage room. It was the agreed meeting place of our "posse", decided upon in the late hours after the Hallowe'en feast. I felt horrible, sneaking down to spy on my best friends in the middle of the night.  
  
And I wanted them to trust me...  
  
"Well, you might as well ask..."  
  
"What, why me?"  
  
"Because... you've got more charisma than I do."  
  
"That's arguable... no girl looks at ME the way that Lily Evans looks at you, James..."  
  
I could almost hear James shudder.  
  
"Could we not talk about this, Sirius?"  
  
"Sure, whatever."  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
I pointedly avoided Sirius, and yes, even James for the rest of the week. instead, I holed myself up in remote corners of the library, reading, or at least pretending to read. Either that, or I stuck close to Peter, sharing notes and chatting aimlessly about Quidditch.  
  
I never did kow much about Quidditch until attending Hogwarts, truthfully. Not that anyone ever figured that out. From listening to James, Sirius and Peter's heated conversations, not to mention attending house cup games, I learned enough about the sport by my second year to survive on.  
  
Aside from this, I found myself almost befriending the most unlikely of induviduals.  
  
Lily Evans.  
  
Lily Evans the dreaded.  
  
Lily Evans the forbidden.  
  
Lily Evans, the girl Sirius had decided second day of school that James was fated to marry once seventh year passed us by.  
  
She was as mudblooded as they come, and an insufferable know it all. Nevermind that she had a wonderful, caring personality and defended herself admirably everytime nasty third year Slytherin Lucius Malfoy and his slimy cronies decided it was her day of the week to be harassed, the point was she topped the class in almost every subject, narrowly beating out James in even transfiguration (my be-spectacled friend's best subject).  
  
It drove James to distraction, and brought amused smiles to the lips of Sirius, Peter and I.  
  
"Remus..." Lily asked one day, looking at me curiously over the top of his thick history book, "I've been meaning to ask you... are you in a fight with Potter and Black?"  
  
I hmmed uncomfortably and turned the page of my own textbook (Defense Against the Dark Arts, of course. I had taken up the habit of not reading anything unless it contained information about werewolves).  
  
She set her book down with a thud, "It's silly, really." She sniffed, "There's no reason for you three to be upset with each other. You've been the best of friends since the first day of school. Frankly, it's breaking my heart, along with the heart of every other Gryffindor, Hufflepuff and even a few Ravenclaws, the way you've been moping about the library. And on top of it, they way THEY'VE been moping about the library entrance, discussing in pathetic whispers the best way to apologize to you. It's no secret."  
  
I also let my book fall with a thud, "Apologize?"  
  
Lily sighed in exasperation and stood, stalking overand grabbing my arm.  
  
"Come." She commanded.  
  
I was helpless as she dragged me, much to the delight of watching students, across the library and shoved me out the front entrance where, as she had said, James and Sirius were pacing nervously.  
  
James stared, then coughed, and Sirius smiled good naturedly, pulling my into a friendly bear-hug, much like the ones victorious Qudditch players betowed on each other after the house cup final. I choked as Sirius pulled away and clapped me on the back.  
  
"Whatever we did," he began, no longer grinning, "We're sorry."  
  
James nodded gravely, concealing a smile, "We promise we won't go prying into your personal business any more... Remus... we trust you."  
  
It puzzled me over the next few months exactly what James had meant by: "We promise to to pry into your personal business again."  
  
Surely they hadn't seen me that night I spied on them in the Potions storage room?  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
All was made clear shortly after Christmas vacation, second year. I was dragged out of bed at half past midnight by a severe James, anxious Sirius and a nervous Peter. Confused, but not frightened, I followed them as we walked in silence almost to the edge of the forbidden forest.  
  
When we arrived at our destination, there was only silence.  
  
I shivered. No surpirse seeing as we were stading outside on a cold, Janurary evening, ankle deep in thick, powdery snow.  
  
"Is there any reason you three have dragged me out of bed after hours?" I sighed, slightly irritated, "We have a potions test tommorow and I..."  
  
"Remus, you're a werewolf."  
  
The words were nearly a physical blow. I stumbled backwards under their pressure and dug my fingernails into my palm, "Wha... what?" I mumbled unintelligently, tears welling up in my eyes painfully.  
  
James smacked Sirius in the back of the head, furrowing his brow afterwards, "You've really got a thing or two to learn about subtly, Sirius." He sighed heavily, and gave me a serious look.  
  
"Remus... we're not going to..."  
  
"No..." I whimpered, voice raw and throat raspy, "It can't be... I... didn't mean for you guys to find out... how did you... oh... God..."  
  
James tried again, "Remus... we don't..."  
  
"You'll all hate me now!" I cried, turning my face away and hunching my shoulders. I couldn't let them see me cry like this, "You've probably told half the school already... I just wanted..."  
  
Suddenly Sirius grabbed me by the neck of my robe and yanked me around the face the small gathering again. I stared at him fearfully.  
  
An angry Sirius is a rare event, to be sure, but not one to be taken lightly.  
  
"WOULD YOU LISTEN, YOU GREAT GIT!" he bellowed. I shrunk, "WE AREN'T GOING TO DISOWN YOU! OPEN YOUR EARS ONCE AND AWHILE, REMUS!"  
  
For the first time that night, Peter spoke up, "We... we want to help you..." he stuttered helpfully, making patterns with his toe in the snow.  
  
I blinked. Once. Twice.  
  
"W... what?"  
  
Sirius detatched his mittened hands from the neck of my shirt and took a deep, calming breath, "He said that we're going to help you. We're gonna become Animagi." he winked and cracked his knuckles.  
  
I blinked again. Once. Twice.  
  
"W... what?"  
  
"It's quite simply, really..." James sratched his head, "We looked into it over summer vacation. The hard part was figuring out what to become... we figured we need something close to a wolf... something small and agile and something powerful."  
  
Peter piped up again, "We decided on a dog, a buck and a rat. James gets to be the buck, since he's the most powerful, and I'm the rat... it can get into small places, but it's not exactly defenseless either." he sighed wistfully.  
  
"You don't sound to happy about that, Pete." Sirius nudged Peter in the ribs ad the smaller boy drew away, grumbling, "You wouldn't be either... rats are filthy creatures."  
  
"We drew straws. It's fair."  
  
Peter hmphed, "I get better marks than you."  
  
Sirius grinned and raised his forefinger into the air, "That will all change one day, my friend. You're all very aware that once my amazing genius that's sure to mature, um, matures, I plan to beat even Potter and his precious Lily Evans out for top marks!" he giggled manically.  
  
James blushed and cleared his throat, sounding unnervingly adult, "Can we get back to the business at hand? Please?"  
  
There was a general agreement, and I blinked yet some more as my friends explained their plan to me...  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
And so we became the mauraders. It took James, Sirius and Peter three years to figure out the trick to doing it, but after that, my transformations were no longer so lonely or horrible. There was one incident with a Slytherin named Severus Snape, though, that nearly went badly, but we won't get into that now. it wasn't a pleasent expirience for anyone involved and I don't believe in digging up the past.  
  
I could almost taste the joy of running through the forest of my youth, back in my innocent days when I didn't realize my lupinous, nighttime romps were a reality.  
  
I could still hear the wolves, though. I never saw them (they say, after all, that only magical creatures live inside the Forbidden Forest), but they were there. In every wood there resides the very soul of the wolf. Loyal wanderer, fierce warrior, proud leader.  
  
There was one night nearing the end of fifth year when I sat leaning on my window pane gazing at the moon and listening to the worried sighs and howls of my distant brothers.  
  
The moon was hazy golden and boldly outlined in the navy-black sky. Harvest moon. The wolves spoke only of sorrow and suffering on the horizen.  
  
The next morning, Dumbledore called an assembly just before breakfast to announce that a war had begun. It involved a former Hogwarts student. Name and house wasn't important (though they leaked out after a while: Tom Riddle; Slytherin), but he was now calling himself 'Voldemort'.  
  
Soon, the orange moon and the crying of wolves became harbringer of sorts. The next decade or so was a difficult and trying one, to be sure.  
  
It was during a dry spell, the next time I found myself staring out my window at a straw-toned circle in the sky. It was widely believed that we'd at last found some peace in the eye of the storm (though, of course, the worst was yet to come). I quietly sipped my tea as my eyes scanned a History text absent mindedly. My house was silent, but not in a deathly sort of way. It was the comfortable silence of a dripping tap, rustling drapes and the occasional muggle-vehicle passing by.  
  
Around midnight, this was shattered by the loud, sharp and desperate cry of a wolf. My head shot up in an instinctive, wolfish manner and I found myself staring at a frazzled post owl in the window.  
  
It was one of Sirius's.  
  
With trembling legs I rose, stedying myself on the kitchen tables and counters as I made my way to the open window and delicately slipped the note from it's carrying pouch.  
  
The owl began preening itself restlessly.  
  
The letter read:  
  
  
  
  
'I'm sorry, Remus. I made a mistake, but I swear to God I'm sorry.'  
  
S.  
  
  
  
  
My heart stopped beating momentarily and the piece of paper fluttered from my hand to tiled, kitchen floor. The wind seemed to pick up and the temperature in the room dropped dramatically. I slammed the window shut after shooing the owl and began to pace frantically, pondering Sirius's note.  
  
'I'm sorry Remus...'  
  
What had Sirius ever done that deserved aplology? It's true that he had openly suspected my loyalty only a week earlier, in front of a crowd, no less... but he was James and Lily's secret keeper. He had a right to be paranoid, even about his closest friends...  
  
'I made a mistake, but I swear to God I'm sorry...'  
  
I nearly tripped over my own feet when demading hands began pounding at my door. I rushed to answer the voiceless call, hoping for a familiar face, but was met only by the cold, wrinkly face of a Ministry worker.  
  
"What do you know about the location of Sirius Black and the murder of Peter Pettigrew?"  
  
I opened my mouth to ask him what in seven hells he was talking about, but fell short as the true impact of those words hit me.  
  
I fainted.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Later, when the investigator had left I walked as if in a daze. I picked up the letter from Sirius and crunched it between my stiff fingers.  
  
He... killed them...  
  
My mind wasn't working properally and I was functioning on base instinct only. My feet seemed of their own will as they carried me to my bedroom. I sunk to the floor and stared listlessly at the pictures on my bedside table. There was one, of course, of Mother, Father and I when I was young. I was excited and distracted (a typical child, of course), but my parents seemed sad. I didn't like the picture, it reminded me too much of the scar in back of mother's neck, but it was the only photograph of my parents I knew to exist.  
  
Beside the family portrait was my graduation picture. James, Sirius, Lily, Peter and I smiled, laughed and pushed each other about playfully. Every so often Lily and James would kiss sheepishly, only to the bemusment of others. Even Peter and I joined along with Sirius's jeering. Afterwards, Sirius grabbed me in a companionable headlock and ruffled my already mishappen, mouse-brown hair.  
  
I tightened my hand around the destroyed note. It made me sick.  
  
Murderer...  
  
And for the first (and hopefully last) time in my life, I willed myself, against nature, to become the wolf.  
  
I turned myself into an animal, breaking free of my human bonds and emotions, to run free in the woods until morning. I wanted to forget...  
  
James, Lily and Peter dead. Sirius on his way to Azkabhan.  
  
I wanted to forget their smiling faces. I wanted to forget that I would never hear Lily's twinkling laugh echo down the halls as she served tea, smiling wryly at her husband as he fiddled with his mass of unruly, raven hair and chatted excitedly about the latest match in the world Quidditch cup. Sirius was supporting an opposite team, of course, and the two launched into a didiculously vicious argument. Peter dropped a comment every so often, trying to make both see that the teams were equal, it was simply the matter of a Seeker that made every game. Lily would sigh and sit beside me on the far couch, muttering, "Those boys and their Quidditch... I would've imagined they'd outgrow it by now." she grin at me, and I'd smile back, content to be surrounded by old and good friends.  
  
I wanted to forget that in a matter of days I would have to stand among crowds of mourning wizard folks and watch the burials of Peter and the Potters. I especially wanted to forget the image shown to me by the Ministry's Investigator... one of Sirius, pained and regretful, being dragged off with a Dementor attatched to either arm.  
  
I wanted to forget that the mischevious-eyed boy who had opped his hea down over the bunk and forced me to make friends so many years ago was a traitor and a murderer.  
  
I almost wished he had died too. That way, it would've been easier to accept everything that happened as the fault of Voldemort...  
  
I wanted to forget all about the half-formed harvest moon in the sky until morning. In the light, I would deal with it, bleary eyed and barely concious. I would have to force myself to sit and think... think about my lonely fate.  
  
Remus Lupin, last of the Mauraders...  
  
  
  
  
  
  
fin.  
  
  
  
  
  
Post-Fic Reflection: Whew. I've been writing bits and pieces of that for three weeks now. I hope it came out like I wanted it to... it's, um, a friendship story, I suppose... the ending seems kinda rushed to me (or at least it felt that way when I was writing it). I hope it doesn't read too awkwardly for you guys...  
  
*sincerely  
Jenn "Sparky" Young aka Izzy Girl 


End file.
